


look at you needing me

by Anonymous



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Witchers (The Witcher), Begging, Biting, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Breathplay, Choking, Cock Rings, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dacryphilia, Desperation, Desperation Play, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Mild Kink, Modern Era, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Cuddling, Nipple Play, Painplay, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Silence, Silence Kink, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism, modern era but still on the Continent, of a kind - Freeform, ringtones of doom, they're both sluts for a little pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Geralt's a dedicated man, and Jaskier knows this, but sometimes he wishes that Geralt would be just a little less dedicated to his job.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 395
Collections: Anonymous





	look at you needing me

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Billie Eilish's "All The Good Girls Go To Hell"

Jaskier knows his partner, he does. After coming up on seven centuries together (thanks to a delightful evening with Apollo himself that Jaskier only half-remembers), they know everything about the other. If he learns anything new about Geralt, he might just die of sheer shock. They’ve spent decade upon decade upon decade together.

Geralt is dedicated to his work, and this is a fact. Since his second round of mutagens made him immortal, he’s the only one still around, and so he’s often busy even with the help of Lesser Witchers invented by some mages a few centuries ago. He’s the one who’s sent in to fight the big beasties, the ones that the Lesser Witchers can’t take down due to insufficient speed or strength, and so brushing off a contract just isn’t something that he can do. He’s so dedicated to his job, in fact, that he even went through the trouble of adding the contact information of the Wildlife Center of every region on the Continent to the phone he hates so much. They have a special ringtone. He had to hire someone to help him figure out how to add specialized ringtones, but he did it, and so he’s able to discern between “calls that can be ignored” and “calls that are about monsters and cannot be ignored.”

His phone, although he’s not a fan of modern technology like Jaskier is, is with him everywhere. Jaskier thinks he even takes it into the bathroom while he’s showering. It’s always on his pants pockets, or the bedside table, or the coffee table. Nearby, just in case.

Jaskier hadn’t really thought about some of the implications of that fact until, after twenty-six whole years of Geralt having a phone, the monster ringtone goes off while Geralt’s balls-deep in Jaskier’s ass.

There’s a certain expectation that Geralt will ignore it. He is, after all, literally inside of Jaskier, surrounded by all that tight wet heat, and Jaskier’s wound up. They’ve been experimenting with their sex life recently, trying to spice it up with the increasing amount of new toys available to them, and so there’s a pretty little cock ring keeping Jaskier contained despite the fact that he’s been on the edge for a good long while now. He can feel the hot, needy ache in his very toes, and this only has him clenching down harder around Geralt with each bedframe-rattling thrust.

Geralt bends over, leans forward in a way that only stretches Jaskier further and leaves him shivering and shouting when the next thrust hits his prostate dead-on, and _picks up the phone._

“Hello?” he says, not sounding out of breath in the slightest and still— _oh sweet Melitele have mercy_ —still fucking him. It’s not fair. Jaskier’s entire body jerks and twitches with the wave of arousal that crashes over him, and he claps a desperate hand over his mouth. He’s got one leg wrapped around Geralt’s hip, the other slung over Geralt’s shoulder with a hand to keep it in place, and Geralt’s rocking steadily into him with the fucking phone to his ear. “Hmm. Describe it to me.”

Jaskier’s gripping the blankets with such force that he’s going to tear them. His jaw is clenched so tightly that it hurts, but even still there’s a desperate sort of sound trying to work its way up his throat because this soft, deep rolling of Geralt’s hips has him rubbing up against Jaskier’s prostate on every fucking pass. His legs have gone entirely useless and there’s lightning crackling along his spine, so much stimulation that he’s left shaking and with damp eyes. All he can do is throw his head into the mattress beneath him and work his hips back against Geralt’s.

“Sounds gruesome. Any claw marks on the bodies, gouges made by claws or the like?”

Spine arching, Jaskier digs his heel into Geralt’s back. He can’t fucking take this. His blood may be burning at this invisible exhibitionism, his whole body throbbing with it—the person on the other end of the phone has no fucking clue that Geralt’s got his dick buried in Jaskier’s body—but if he doesn’t come soon he really might cry. Big, fat, desperate sobs that he won’t be able to stifle; the cock ring has kept him from coming, but he’s so hard that it hurts.

Geralt looks down at Jaskier, writhing like a stuck pig on his massive spear, and has the gall to smirk. His hair is plastered to his neck by sweat, and his mouth hangs half-open even when he’s not talking to whoever’s on the fucking phone, and his pupils are fucking massive behind lowered lids, but he sounds entirely unaffected when he speaks.

If Jaskier tried to speak now, he doesn’t know what the result would be. Tears, probably. At the very least some kind of moan or a pitchy plea.

“No claw marks,” he muses. “How did you find them again?”

Something dark and rich plays across Geralt’s face, and he snaps his hips once with enough force to send Jaskier a couple inches up the bed. A punched-out noise makes its way from his throat, followed immediately by a whine he’s too slow to stifle. Geralt’s hand, which had previously been set splayed upon Jaskier’s sternum, slides up and wraps itself around Jaskier’s neck like the most terrible kind of collar.

Jaskier can’t fucking look at him, with his stupid fucking smirk even as he puts constant pressure on Jaskier’s prostate and wraps his hand around Jaskier’s throat with just the right amount of pressure to induce lightheadedness without unconsciousness. He’s got Jaskier seconds from crying mercy as he discusses corpses of all things.

“Not that way,” Geralt says. “What condition were they in? Had they been running away from whatever killed them?”

Jaskier can’t even control his body anymore, shuddering almost like he’s being electrocuted. At one thrust his leg jerks and knocks directly into Geralt’s head. Geralt bares his teeth but doesn’t actually growl, then turns and bites Jaskier’s calf hard enough to leave a mark. Although it probably shouldn’t, that goes directly to Jaskier’s dick. He wants to cry, wants to strip his dick until he comes despite the cock ring or just rip it off altogether, but if he dares to even get close to his cock it’ll mean nothing good. There’s a chance Geralt wouldn’t let him come at all tonight if he did that, and the thought’s distressing but also hot enough that tears well up in his eyes and spill down his temples.

Geralt would have to keep the cock ring on for a long goddamn time if he were to decide to deprive Jaskier; the moment that comes off, Jaskier’s going to come so hard he might temporarily go blind. They’ve been going at it for a while and Geralt’s already come twice. The erection currently causing Jaskier so much trouble will be his last, unless he decides to be truly terrible and drag Jaskier’s release out long enough to get a fourth orgasm in. Jaskier can’t imagine that Geralt would do that to him. But then, he hadn’t thought that Geralt would pick up the fucking phone while in the middle of getting his dick wet.

“Hmm,” Geralt says. “Sounds like alps. One or two, most likely.”

It’s _so hard_ not to make noise while crying. Trying desperately to maintain some kind of composure and keep quiet, Jaskier releases the bedding and scrabbles frantically at Geralt’s arm. The marks won’t last long, and the pain is clearly no deterrent if the series of quick, stuttering thrusts are any indication. Ah, so he’s had some sort of effect on Geralt. Good to know his presence in the bed has even been noticed.

“Yeah, I can be there by then.”

There’s something working up to tear itself from Jaskier’s throat, willpower be damned, and he removes the hand he’s had covering his mouth for just long enough to grab a pillow. It’s hard to breathe like this, but the low, shaking moan refuses to be held back any longer and he has to muffle it somehow. Why can’t Geralt just hang up the goddamn phone? His whole body is too hot, and he’s barely keeping himself from full-on thrashing in an effort to—to get some kind of release, some loosening of pressure. His ears are ringing with it, all thoughts gone except for _Geralt_ and _be quiet._

He barely hears Geralt say, “Just doing my job. You’re in Hingham, right? All right, then. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

There’s some sort of clatter as the phone is tossed aside, landing either on the bedside table or the floor. Jaskier literally couldn’t care less, not when he can finally make noise again.

 _“Bastard,”_ he sobs as Geralt rips the pillow off of his face, reaching up to grab a violent handful of Geralt’s hair and yank him down. “Bastard, bastard.”

“You did so good for me,” Geralt growls into his neck, leaning forward to bend Jaskier nearly in half and snapping his hips so hard that Jaskier knows he’ll be feeling this for a week. That careful composure he’d just wielded so masterfully is cracking. “You were so fucking pretty like that, _fuck._ Trying so hard to be a good boy for me.”

The sound that floods the room is embarrassingly high-pitched, but he can finally make noise again. He can scream all he’d like as his body lights up like a damn firework, sparking and popping. There’s no way he can last any longer, not with his purple-headed dick rubbing so sweetly against Geralt’s stomach. Not with Geralt’s teeth on his neck at the edges of his own fingers. Not with Geralt’s enormous, beautiful dick fixed like a tracking missile on the most sensitive spot in Jaskier’s whole body.

“Please,” he begs as Geralt’s mouth moves from his neck to lap up the tears that keep flowing from his eyes. “Oh, oh, _please,_ Geralt, _fuck,_ please, you _bastard.”_

“You look so gorgeous when you cry for me, sweetheart,” Geralt growls, twisting meanly at one of Jaskier’s nipples. He bucks and thrashes under Geralt, claws deep grooves into his back as he wails. At this rate they might still be there by the time Geralt gets to Hingham; he thinks he’s drawn blood. In any case, the sharp little pain only spurs Geralt to thrust harder. “Was it hard to keep it together? To stay silent so that officer wouldn’t know that I was fucking you into oblivion as we talked?”

Jaskier’s well and truly crying now, wailing more than moaning. He can’t—He can’t fucking take it.

“Lemme come,” he whines, straining upward. Geralt’s teeth scrape along a bared tendon and he lets out a short, sharp sob at the delicate sensation. “Please, fuck, please, let me—”

“‘M close,” Geralt breathes, pulling on Jaskier’s lower lip in a violent, possessive kiss. The movements of his hips have grown sporadic and more intense. “So close, Jas, you can hold on just a bit longer.”

At least he’s true to his word; it’s not another ten seconds before Geralt is coming, fucking through it so that the combined products of three loads all seep out and drip onto the sweat-soaked blankets below them. Even before he’s fully finished with his orgasm, still jerking through aftershocks, Geralt reaches down and releases Jaskier from the cock ring.

The pleasure crests sharply, painfully, all at once and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but drown beneath the intensity of the onslaught. He can’t hear, he can’t feel, he can’t fucking see as the force of his release robs him of three of his five senses. He grows vaguely aware of the fact that his body is trembling violently. There’s a mouth rumbling nonsensical words into his ear and broad, warm hands running up and down his heaving sides.

“...back to me, come on now.”

He takes one long, purposeful breath and lets it out. Then another one. His entire body feels drained, and so heavy that the thought of moving makes him want to cry. But Geralt’s pressed up against him, sturdy and solid.

“Hey,” Geralt murmurs, apparently having noticed that Jaskier’s no longer half-dead. Jaskier barely has the energy to tip his head in Geralt’s direction, the world feeling like it’s spinning wildly around him. “Are you alright, Jas?”

 _I’m not dead,_ he tries to say. But he can’t quite get his lips to separate and what comes out is one long whine.

“Can I leave you to go get a wet cloth?” Geralt murmurs, trailing soft lips over the side of his face. He can feel the tears drying tacky on his temple, and the come drying in his chest hair. It’s not going to be comfortable for much longer. But Geralt is so warm, and he feels so cold where he’s not touching Geralt.

After a long deliberation pause, since half his brain just came out through his dick, he manages to nod. Everything other than Geralt still feels fuzzy and far away, and the coldness that settles in his chest when Geralt leaves his side is awful. Except he’s barely gone before he’s back again with a warm, wet cloth that he uses to wipe the worst of the mess they’ve made, especially the mess between his thighs.

“So good for me,” Geralt murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”

“D’n’t ‘ver do ‘t ‘gain,” Jaskier mumbles, control over his body slowly coming back to him. He’s still shaking. “Or I‘ll kill you. Felt like I was gonna die.”

Geralt laughs, his breath warm on Jaskier’s chest. “I won’t. I’ll let it go next time, call back when we’re done.”

The surface of their bed is horrifically messy, but it’s a simple enough thing to pull the blankets back and climb underneath them. Jaskier curls immediately into Geralt’s chest, broad and steady like nothing else he’s ever known. Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier to pull him closer, running his fingers through Jaskier’s horribly sweaty hair. They’ll have to shower and change the sheets later, but that’s a problem for later them and later them only.

“If I want to get to Hingham by the time I promised, I can’t leave any later than midnight,” Geralt murmurs into the top of Jaskier’s head. “We’ll sleep first, though, and shower and eat.”

“M’kay,” Jaskier mumbles, his eyes already pulling themselves firmly shut. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Jaskier can faintly feel Geralt’s smile. “Now go to sleep; I’ll be here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me what happened because I don't know. I saw a tumblr post about a woman whose boyfriend got a call and conducted a phone interview all while having sex with her and some kind of horny spirit instantly possessed me. Anyways I've never written straight-up porn before so drop a kudos or comment if you enjoyed it!


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